


A Proud Brother

by indi_indecisive



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Friendship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Friendship, Saving People Hunting Things, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_indecisive/pseuds/indi_indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frostfinger found himself waking up, slumped against the man he’s proud to call brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proud Brother

There’s a brief moment were Frostfinger believes he is going to die. He’s thrown to the ground, disarmed, with a cut on his forearm an inch deep; even if he lives through this fight, he’s positive a creature of the forest may smell the blood and strike him down. The confusion is evident on his face as blood is speckled onto his lips, and the enemy is put down like a sick dog by a man with one eye. 

He’s significantly impressed, and Frostfinger isn’t certain as to why. Perhaps it was the way the stranger sliced his enemies throat with grace; how he showed a sense of commandment yet brotherhood by way of action and appearance; or how he worked with his disability, and how he could relate. 

Which ever way he looks at it, the man impresses him.

He stayed frozen, on his ass in the snow, watching as his savoir approached him; and he feels nearly as flushed, if not more, than when fist arriving to the Wall. It’s an old, odd feeling and he doesn’t particularly like the sudden spike in emotion. Yet, it’s the first time in several long years he willingly takes the hand of an offering man, and is pulled up onto his feet quicker than he had fallen by the same man rather than himself. It is also the first time since loosing several fingers that another hand holds his longer than necessary, the stranger doesn’t look at his hand or mention his missing fingers, and Frostfinger doesn’t have to explain.

He likes that– he’s impressed.

He learned the mans name on the rather long walk back home, cradling his arm close to his chest, and instructing Croft on where to go. He realized Croft is a better man than most he’s meet; he started making jokes, and although Frostfinger didn’t participate, he laughs.

Then they’re in his quarters; he’s not certain who suggested it, or who went and retrieved the ale, but now they’re drinking and Frostfinger watched silently as Croft tended to his wounds. It’s the same with the ale, he isn’t sure who started telling the stories of their past first. They found themselves in a pleasant, interesting cycle; talking, drinking, and then silence as one of them stroked the fire.

Their pattern continued until neither man could raise himself to stoke the fire without seeing the stars; unable to speak with without laughter and flushed faces.

There’s nothing but darkness and warmth until the mid-morning sounds of training awoke him. Frostfinger found himself waking up, slumped against the man he’s proud to call brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I am literal trash


End file.
